


A Mother's Love (Sadia)

by poisontaster



Category: Dante's Cove
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Magic, Magical manipulation, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pre-Series, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-02
Updated: 2008-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had told Grace time and time again that Ambrosius Vallin was an unsuitable object for her affections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mother's Love (Sadia)

It was unfortunate that Sadia had not been wiser when choosing the man to spawn her daughters. William Childs had been a pleasure to look upon and, in the main, an agreeable enough companion for the years she'd had to endure his company. However, given the way both Grace and Diana had turned out, it was not to be denied that there was a weakness in the bloodline that could not have come from her.

It was not to be borne.

Of course, the fault also clearly lay with her for not taking a better interest in the girls when they were young and impressionable. She'd left them too much in William's company and, as a result, Diana was entirely spoiled and—given her new and vexing trend of flouting Sadia's sage instruction—Grace seemed hellbound to follow.

The prickle of this insult itched at Sadia's bosom as she mixed the herbs and earths of her spell. She had told Grace time and time again that Ambrosius Vallin was an unsuitable object for her affections, but Ambrosius seemed a fair witch in his own right, given the way Grace seemed utterly bewitched by his mere presence. Sadia could barely credit it, a fully invested priestess of _her_ line, stammering and bowing and scraping like a ninny over a mere man.

The smoke of the herbs mixed in the wax of the candles stung at Sadia's eyes as she worked but she breathed the vapors deep, mind set on her task. Vallin was a sly one, to have gotten so close to Grace and so quickly, while Sadia's attention had been elsewhere, but he was not so sly as to escape her once she turned the full focus of Tresum upon him.

Though it would have never occurred to Sadia to question her mother the way that Grace questioned her, Sadia was more than clever enough to see that the power of Ambrosius's rutting cock had overcome whatever good sense Grace might have possessed and that Grace was not going to heed any word that Sadia might have to say on the topic. Thus, if Sadia was not going to end up with Ambrosius Vallin as her daughter's consort—and she was not, by all the Powers of Tresum—Grace was going to have to see Ambrosius as he really was by herself.

Sadia knew, without question, that Emily Vallin was the one who'd pushed Ambrosius at Grace, envious as she'd ever been of Sadia's beauty and power and still sorely vexed over the death of Ambrosius's father, whatever his name had been. Even so, Sadia had no doubt that Ambrosius, himself, was a willing accomplice in his mother's schemes, hoping to divine the workings of Tresum for his own base uses.

Still, while the Vallin's attentions were turned upon Grace—foolishly romantic, naïve Grace—they were curiously and arrogantly sure of their own imperviousness to attack. Wrongfully so, given how simple it had been for Sadia to hear of the scullery maid's unwanted bastard thickening her belly and the ease of obtaining her aid and information for the simple expedient of an herbal abortifacient.

It was astonishing to Sadia what a loose hand most put to their servants, neglecting to inspire proper respect and fear, but she was not about to instruct her neighbors in their folly when it could so readily be turned to her own needs. Sadia's own servants had best maintain their loyalty and discretion, on pain of death, but she paid a more-than-fair wage in addition to the prestige of serving so noble a family as theirs, so it's not as though they had aught to complain of.

In any case, it had hardly taken any effort on Sadia's part to discover Ambrosius's disgusting and unnatural attachment to his valet, nor for her to give the maid a draught to slip into both Ambrosius and the valet's suppers. For her part, Grace had been pathetically eager to respond to Sadia's veiled suggestion that she and Ambrosius take a turn around the Cove's promenade, marred by only the slightest touch of suspicion.

Sadia had spread her hands guilelessly. "You have declared you will have Vallin for your consort whether I will it or no, daughter. For the sake of your growing powers and your pace among the priestesses, I would not have us divided."

And Grace had gone.

When Grace returned, no doubt heart-stricken, Sadia would have to see about strengthening the girl's character, though she held her doubts that anything could be done to cure Grace entirely of her inappropriate romanticism.

Sadia poured water from the ewer into a bowl of costly Oriental jade, careful to spill none of it and murmuring softly, "Clarity, courage, justice and wisdom."

Thus fortified, Sadia returned to the book, its pages faintly warm under her touch. If she had a true love, it was this, her faithful lover Tresum, the only consort she'd ever truly desired. If only she could communicate that passion to Grace, instead of having Grace squander it on such as Ambrosius Vallin.

Gathering herself, Sadia let her hands spread wide and her head fall back, intoning, "Powers of Tresum, hear my call." The familiar incantation sent a flood-tide of power surging through her, slightly weaker than it would be at night when the moon is high. Sadia had worked hard, though, to counteract the pernicious influence of the sun on her magics and she felt confident in her strength. "Powers, lend me your sight. Show me the one who would steal my child from me. Show me Ambrosius Vallin!"

The water in the jade bowl darkened with gratifying quickness as if Sadia had poured ink into it. Sadia gestured, allowing the merest touch of her power to touch the water's surface and when the cloudiness resolved, Sadia saw Grace, her daughter and a fully invested Tresum priestess, rubbing herself against Ambrosius like a common hussy.

It was possible that she had kept Grace too close to her over the years, Sadia thought, her mouth pressing thin. If Grace had more experience of men and their trifling deceits then possibly she would not have been taken in so thoroughly by a scoundrel like Ambrosius and perhaps she would not waste her favors so frivolously now. It seemed clear that Grace had inherited William's base sensuality along with everything else, despite Sadia's efforts to keep her pure and focused. Though, better that, she reflected, than Diana's unspeakable perversions.

It wasn't only the thick wellsprings of Tresum that had brought Sadia to Dante's Cove. Let the Council squander their powers in licentiousness and depravity. She and Grace would build a strong, new tradition, firmly based in the mind, rather than these weak, mortal shells.

And speaking of weak, mortal shells…

Sadia poured a handful of her mixed powder into her palm. The smell of the cayenne pepper and the catalyzing allspice overpowered the others, stinging in her nostrils. Her mouth curled in satisfaction, she cast the powder in the sigils of her spell, the lines neat as if she'd written them with pen and ink. The heat of the pepper would ignite in Ambrosius's blood and that of his valet. The mushrooms would cloud their judgment, dulling Ambrosius's animal cunning—no match for her razor sharp wits. The carefully preserved cherry blossoms—also acquired at great effort and cost—will loosen Ambrosius's tongue, bringing the truths he's so carefully hidden from Grace—but not Sadia, never Sadia—to the surface.

Indeed, Ambrosius thrust Grace from him, though he was hectic and disordered with lust. It was not long before he sent Grace from him and Grace—poor, dim Grace—was in such a state that it hardly required Sadia's assistance to make her forget her gloves.

The barberry of the second powder she'd added for Grace, souring her hopeless and irrational attachment to Ambrosius and vetivert, to take away his harmful influence from her precious, precious girl, stupid in love though she might be.

Caraway and Spanish Fly for the valet, and she hardly needed those, either. Whatever mastery Ambrosius wielded over him, it was hardly against the slattern's will. Hardly surprising for someone of that class, of course.

Or…perhaps Ambrosius was not the master at all, Sadia mused, watching the eagerness with which Ambrosius went to his knees. Oh, she knew he was no fit consort for Grace! Bad enough he engaged in such perversions; worse still for Ambrosius to play the woman's part. The very thought of it was repulsive, more repulsive than the pantomime of sickness she saw in her scrying bowl. At the same time, she felt a flicker of anticipation in her breast, heated and luscious, that Grace should see Ambrosius so and understand fully what kind of creature she would have yoked herself to, that Grace should see the folly of trying to deviate from the carefully thought out path that Sadia had arranged for her.

Sadia crumbled the bindweed between her fingers and let it fall, pricking Grace with the memory of her forgotten gloves. Satisfaction was sweet as honey, fresh from the comb. Grace would see her beloved being mounted and rutted like a cow being serviced. Grace would see and she would know: Sadia was right.

A mother is always right.

All that remained was for Sadia to feign her surprise, when Grace came back to her, heartbroken and penitent.

Things would be different from now on.


End file.
